Perfect Woman

Beautiful. You’re simply stunning. From your perfect hair, to your flawless legs. Maybe you can see what I do; at least I hope you do. A beautiful, confident woman who makes my head spin. A woman with the power to rule the world and then some. A woman without fear to hold her back. 

On the other hand, maybe you don’t see what I do. I understand. Maybe you see someone who is cowardly; someone who is hidden in the depths of the closet. Understand simply that because you cannot love others openly, does not mean you are cowardly. In other words, understand simply that your family’s hate does not define you. 

When I see you, I see more than the product of others. I see a person who I desperately want to be around, and I desperately want to love. Then again, maybe you don’t see those things in me; one can only dare to dream when someone as perfect as you wanders into their life. 

While I watch, a spectator to your majesty, I can’t help but feel graced. Graced to witness it all, graced to love you, graced to even share a space with you. 

A Young Man

I know you don’t see me as I’m intended to be seen. A young man. You see me as a woman. A girl. Confused by the world around me.

Normally I don’t mind this perception. Being viewed as a young woman has it’s advantages; I’m taken seriously intellectually, and people generally respect me. However, when I want to be seen as a man, your man, all you can do is joke.

How could you be attracted to the type of woman that I am? You’ve never loved a woman, and you never could. Sure, a woman, like me, makes a great friend, but not a partner.

I’m so sorry that you see me like a woman. And I’m even sorrier that you can’t see me as I am. Maybe soon another will appreciate me the way you never could.